


Imprisonment

by justsleepwalkin



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsleepwalkin/pseuds/justsleepwalkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that somewhere in the Doctor’s ship, the Master was likely making trouble. Even if she wasn’t sending off alarm signals in his mind, even if there was the slimmest of chances that everything was alright, the Doctor <i>knew</i>. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprisonment

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> _“Never did I mean to imprison you, here in my garden.”_  
>  -Running Through the Garden, Fleetwood Mac  
> 

The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that somewhere in the Doctor’s ship, the Master was likely making trouble. Even if she wasn’t sending off alarm signals in his mind, even if there was the slimmest of chances that everything was alright, the Doctor _knew_. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.

The Master couldn’t hide from him in his own ship. Where was he expecting to _go_? It doesn’t take the Doctor long, of course. He knew it wouldn’t, but the look of utter disgust the Master sends him causes him to lock up and draw back a step from the entrance of his garden. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried to find the other Time Lord so soon. Maybe he should have waited it out, should have given him space. They both need that, don’t they? After everything with the Year and the trauma they’ve both dealt with; after the Master realizing the terrifying silence from the near-extinct Time Lords, and the Doctor remembering what those synapses in his mind were _for_.

It’s chilling to be in the same room as one another and yet so very far apart.

“I…” the Doctor swallows back the shakiness of his voice, tries to clear his mind and focus on the situation at hand. He brought this on himself, and he can’t even turn and leave now. He should have stayed in the console room. The TARDIS would have alerted him if something was wrong. He could’ve waited for that. Why did he… _why did he have to_ … “What are you doing?”

The Master cracks his neck to the side, wrinkles his nose, and peers off towards the collective shrubbery. He remains silent, dismissing the Doctor in that one gesture. He sits on stone steps, arms loosely hanging between his knees, almost peaceful, but the Doctor knew better.

Perhaps he would have been peaceful had the Doctor not interrupted.

“Look… do you want to go somewhere? There’s gotta be a planet neither of us have been to. Bit of old fashion exploring, you know. Get out of the TARDIS.” He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his favorite brown jacket. He looks everywhere but the Master, telling himself that he’s taking in the sights. After all, he _hasn’t_ been here himself in quite some time… Still, it’s an excuse, and he damn well knows it. “I’d imagine she’s getting rather bored having us cooped up all the time. Likes to have some time to herself.”

Slowly, the Master’s eyes fall back to the Doctor. There’s that wildness – the predator still lurking within them. His hearts hammer away at chest; he feels a lapse of his seventh self and it _hurts_. All the things they’ve been through, all the things they’ve done! Sometimes… most of the time… the Doctor doesn’t want to remember.

Most of their lifetimes together were bad ones. They can’t get to the old days before the Master was still sane, before they were ever taken for initiation. The Doctor was being foolish in his age to think there could even have been a possibility.

“Funny,” the Master quips coolly. He runs his tongue along molars, rolls his head along his shoulders. He finds nothing ‘funny’ right now about this moment, about this _life_. “That you would grant your ship solitude over the only other last existing Time Lord of Gallifrey. You always think you offer out _kindness_. And you wonder why no one ever stays with you.”

His voice is dripping with hatred. He wanted to die. That _feeling_ of holding back a regeneration… it was _remarkable_. There was nothing like it. Death was beautiful. It was truly the most brilliant design of the universe – and the Master knew how to shape it to his will. He had a backup plan; he would be revived by his little cult, hidden amongst the screaming and howling disease called the human race. While the Doctor had been clutching to him like the sentimental sap he was, the Master was succumbed to the drums, but with the _knowledge_ in his mind that he would be back to slap the Doctor across the face another place, another time.

He always came back, after all. The universe would never leave him behind. It _needed_ him.

But no! No, no, no, _no_! He isn’t allowed that victory! Swept away from his grasp by med student Martha Jones! _How dare_ she take everything away from him! Somewhere during her process of ‘saving him’ he had marked up her arms, clawing angrily in retaliation so that maybe she would just kill him!

Imprisoned in the TARDIS. What a life.

The Doctor stands in the entranceway awkwardly, his gaze finally settling weakly on the Master.

“What’s this, Doctor?” the Master says, rising to his feet and skirting towards the other, eyes wide; crazy. The drumming thrashes. His body twitches, a constant need filtering in now to _move_. Be on the move, always on the move, always always always – “You came down here. Oh don’t _tell_ me you didn’t even _think_ to have yourself some ammunition! You’re priceless, Doctor. You really are!”

“That’s not – look, I was just worried, alright?” he snaps in return, going rigid. “You go locking yourself up in on your own and I have to wonder if you’re already starting to shape some plan in breaking out and reeking your havoc on the universe! No more! I can’t have that!”

“I don’t have to lock myself up anywhere!” the Master yells, flinging out an arm and closing the distance between him and the Doctor. If his head didn’t feel like it was ready to explode, he would have taken a strong note in how the Doctor did not back down. “You’ve done it for me! You couldn’t even let me _die_ , could you? You selfish _idiot_! You can’t bring the Time Lords back through me. You killed them and Gallifrey – why the hell didn’t you let the job get _finished_?!”

The Doctor tries to remember to breathe. He’s holding his ground, but he wants nothing more than to turn and run and hide. That’s all he can do these days: run.

“I couldn’t,” he rasps. “I could never…” _Not you. Never you._

The Master strikes him across the face, and the Doctor stumbles into the frame, reaching up a hand and snapping his stunned eyes to the Master’s fury.

“You think being a coward saves lives?” the Master drawls, stepping in closer again and grabbing the lapels of the other’s jacket roughly with one hand. He draws the Doctor up. “You’re nothing but a murderer, Doctor. Always have been, always will be. You haven’t _saved_ me. You think you can fix me?” And then he throws the Doctor away from him again, watching him crumple towards the floor. “Even your title is a lie. You ‘make things better’ by breaking others and eventually even those you try and save. You were too cowardly to let Lucy’s bullet kill me. But don’t you dare think that my life is saved.”

He steps over the Doctor’s body and exits, knowing that the Doctor wouldn’t even try to go after him now. He could have his solitude, still bogging down the Doctor’s precious TARDIS with his ‘cooped up’ presence.

The TARDIS is silent. That was more of a problem than a relief, because it meant that the Doctor was still alone, more than ever before. He pulls his hands tiredly down his face, draws in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out very slowly.


End file.
